


The Pretty Pair

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Aliens, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/M, Mating, Mission Fic, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce and Diana go on an off-world mission to sign a peace treaty with a larger than life species called the Vongar. Negotiations do not go as planned. They escape the clutches of their captors, only to be taken after days of struggling in unfamiliar foliage with little to no resources. In a strange twist of fate, the pair are taken captive and sold to an excited Vongar male who thinks he's just bought a mating pair of humans. Collared, caged, and preened over, Bruce and Diana struggle with their own suppressed feelings for each other while navigating being someone's pretty playthings.





	The Pretty Pair

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot story where Bruce and Diana have been fighting feelings for a long time. It's not all canon and I don't own DC or their characters. Vongar are a made up species and the story is all mine.  
> Enjoy!

**Diana**

                I watch the lines around his mouth tighten into brackets as his lips thin in pain. I see sweat cling and then trail like fingers down his neck and back and still, he climbs. Still he reaches and pushes far beyond any mortal ought. Still, I remain silent and let him. Because if I don’t, he will do it anyways. He will fight me harder than he already has.

                And his survival is worth more to me.

                When we reach the summit, breath coming out like clouds of white crystals, the air so thin it will hurt a man’s lungs, I survey Bruce with as much detachment as possible.

                His skin is splotched in scarlet, eyes weary and glossy. A fever, possibly? My gaze travels the length of him, cataloguing and forcefully discarding the evidence of bloody smears on his thermal shirt and pants, the tears on one knee revealing purpling flesh and dried mud.  He breathes shallow and quick, each sip clearly painful to inhale but done just the same. I grind my teeth to prevent words from tumbling out that have no place in this moment.

                We can only focus on the mission at hand. And surviving.

                “Will the signal be better here?”

                He blinks, gaze sluggish, “Possibly. It’s the best we can do. At least for now. Send the mayday again.”

                I obey, silently punching in the message on our transponder, though there is little hope of it reaching the JLA. Then I watch him as he sits heavily on a boulder, tugging on one boot to dump out pebbles in distracted jerky motions. “We need water.”

                He nods, “I know. There should be fresh water nearby. According to the mapping we did before the mission.”

                “You remember them?”

                He shrugs, “Some. It’s a rough guess. But I’d say we’re a couple of miles from the falls.”

                “Fresh water.”

                Bruce blinks up at me, mouth flattening as he swallows with difficulty, “Yes. Hopefully.”

                We’ve been running for days. We passed desperation and are plowing straight into blind panic. At least, on the inside. On the out, I am Diana, princess of Thamiscura and Bruce, is Bruce. He never weakens under pressure. He simply becomes more obstinate and bossy.

                Heroes don’t panic when they are about to die, they simply plan more. Speak of escape routes and contingencies. Right up until the end.

                Or so I picture all things coming to an end when in mission with Bruce.

                But I never imagined it would be quite like this.

                Ignoring each other, we begin out descent after a short rest and I say nothing when darkness descends over us and our trail through the underbrush becomes horrific. Bruce stumbles, trips, and curses, crashing into rocks, snapping himself on branches. Still, I let him. He won’t appreciate my stepping in. But I want to.

                When the rumble of water touches our ears, I feel more than see Bruce’s excitement. Our pace quickens and within a few minutes, the forest so thick and cloying opens into a wide pool for the falls to dump.

                In the darkness, we can barely make out the shimmering mists but we can hear them. Loud and pummeling, joyfully proclaiming that we’ve found something to drink that won’t kill us. That we might live another day on this God forsaken planet.

                We kneel at the pool’s edge and gulp at the water like dogs, soaking ourselves, laughing hoarsely in a sort of crazed pleasure. Once sated, I wait for Bruce’s next orders, as I know he’s already thinking of our next move but find him strangely quiet, only the sound of his thin breathing above the falls any indication he’s still with me.

                “Bruce?”

                His face turns, catching the glow of the double moon’s kiss. He looks like porcelain. Alabaster marble. So breakable and human. “We should make camp.”

                “Yes,” I agree, eyes roving the forest floor, wondering where the safest option might be. Nothing looks particularly welcoming in the dark. Creatures, some of which are likely deadly will roam in the night. And we both need rest.

                Bruce more than myself.

                He leads us over the base of a massive tree, the roots of which lump over each other like giant bodies and slips into a small pocket of darkness. I follow, struggling to let my eyes adjust to the absolute darkness beneath the dome of roots. It takes me several minutes, but soon, I can make out the hazy shape of Bruce seated, back against the roots, eyes already half-mast and fading.

                “Let me see your wounds,” I offer now, hopeful he will allow it.

                “I don’t need any help.”

                “They could become infected without care. And I need your help Bruce. You know the topography better than me. You did the intel.”

                He grunts, but it doesn’t sound much like an argument, so I dip to begin my assessment and he blinks in the darkness like a blind man. I suppose he can only see inky black. I am lucky to see anything at all. Grainy though my vision is, I can make out the previous tear in the thermal pants where his knee is swollen and angry and I gently prod it with cool fingers, gauging his reaction. He hisses painfully through clenched teeth and I withdraw with a frown.

                “It’s out of alignment.”

                “It happens. It’s a bad knee.”

                “You need stitches.”

                “I’m aware. We don’t have anything.”

                My frown deepens, but I continue without saying anything else. When I am finished, I have catalogued three lacerations in need of stitches, the sprained knee, a broken rib, and a large contusion on the back of his head. He is likely suffering some symptoms of a mild concussion.

                “How much pain are you in?” I ask mildly, watching his eyes for the truth.

                He shifts, gaze dropping to his lap and I sigh.

                “I can manage. I have to.”

                “I have the morphine.”

                “Save it. We might need it later.”

                I bite my lip, watching the way he shifts painfully and wonder if he injured his ass during that last fall as well. It’s likely. But I won’t wound the man’s pride by asking. “We should sleep.”

                “Yes.”

                Without getting his permission, I sidle up next to him, drape an arm over his shoulders then tug him into my side. He makes a growling noise deep in throat, much like a bedraggled cat being stuffed into a bath, then sighs angrily.

                “I don’t need to be coddled.”

                “Let me help.”

                “I—” he grunts when my fingers begin toying with the hair just above his ear, tucking and twisting the slightly sweat dampened pieces. “you don’t need to do that.”

                “I want to.”

                “Diana--.”

                I press that same hand from his hair, over his mouth and lean my forehead into his. “Stop pushing me away Bruce. I’m tired. I’m weary. My patience is not where it should be. Let me do this.”

                He sinks further into my side and I release his mouth, though now my palm tingles where his lips had been. I keep playing with his hair, letting my thoughts wander until I hear Bruce’s breathing slip deeper and slow. His body is so lax and heavy on mine, it lulls me into sleep shortly after. I pray to Hera that we survive another day.

 

                Morning comes, heavy and wet and the rain pelts our skin mercilessly.

                Abruptly awake, I feel Bruce’s frame go rigid and then hear the little gasp of pain escape the seam of his mouth before he can stifle it. He blinks owlishly at me from dark eyes and too pale of skin and my stomach tightens uncomfortably.

                Adjusting, we huddle into each other for a moment, struggling past the thick morning fog, before Bruce speaks roughly in my ear, sending goosebumps down my frame.

                “We need to get moving.”

                “Alright,” I agree, though I’m not certain moving will help our predicament any. The more we move, the more it seems we drain our meager resources and energy. In a smattering of days, we will likely be dead. Or captured again.

                And I wish for neither.

                We travel in the rain for several hours, stopping only to let Bruce rest, though I claim it is for myself and then we drink as much as possible from the little stream we follow off the falls. It takes us deeper south and the forest seems to impossibly thicken. I can only hope Bruce knows what he’s doing.

                Still, Bruce needs something to eat. His energy is flagging and without caloric intake, he will become too weak to walk. And as much as I wish my own energy were not weakened, I cannot merely carry him on my back. We would be caught too quickly.

                Bruce stops us when we reach a particularly large log, dripping with moss and raindrops and I watch silently as he lifts the log, picks out some worms and bugs and then without so much a pause, tosses them into his mouth. My stomach does a slow twisting knot of revulsion even as I recognize the necessity. We haven’t come across a single creature to kill. And the foliage, has been largely inedible. No fruiting trees. No vegetable type plants. Bugs and grubs may be our only option. It still makes me throat want to snap closed.

                “It’s not as bad as you think,” Bruce offers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dirt smears over his right cheek, standing out painfully against his skin. He looks ghostly pale.

                “It looks pretty bad.”

                He grimaces, running his tongue along his teeth, “Not preferable, but doable.”

                “Fine. I can do it.”

                He watches me a moment, then copies the same swiping motion in the muddy dirt before handing me my own mouthful of squirming sustenance. I close my eyes, toss it back, and struggle not to taste any of it.

                Bruce’s chuckle is deep and warm and my eyes snap open with a fluttering response in my stomach. His laugh soothes a bit of that pressing ache that has been gnawing in fear over his wellbeing and I smile back at him, happy to have helped. If only for this brief moment.

                “Never thought I’d see the day.”

                “Never say never.”

                I smirk, leaning close enough to feel his breath on my cheeks. It feels starkly warm in comparison to the slightly chilly rain that drips off the end of his nose, “I can do what I want.”

                His mouth tips in a smile, “Sure you can princess.”

                I tap his nose, friendly, but verging on not, then back up. We’ve been dancing around this physical attraction between us since we started working together, four years ago. Being trapped in an unfriendly world bent on selling us like some overpriced pets, only makes the pull stronger. The desire to protect him, the near painful need to touch and be touched has only grown. If he feels the same, he’s done an excellent job of keeping it under wraps.

                But now is not the time. Nor should it be.

                Emotions are high from stress and both of us are working under duress. Any sort of steps in our ‘relationship’ should not be taken under pressure. Or so I keep reminding myself these last forty-eight hours.

                Still, my gaze lingers on his mouth and when I see him lift a single knowing brow, I merely shrug, then look away. It’s not as if he hasn’t been thinking the very same things. I’m simply not as adept at keeping my attraction hidden.

                Then I hear it, just above the hum of crickets and rain, a light pattering sound, like paws in soft soil.

                Bruce’s eyes narrow, brows drawing low, “Do you hear that?”

                “Yes,” I whisper, heart suddenly in my throat.

                “We need to--.”

                The canopy overhead bursts open and Vongar fall like half-human demons from the sky. They fall on us in waves, one after the other, so many that we simply cannot fight back and I struggle when they smash me face down into the mud. My wrists are bound first, followed by my ankles and then I’m being hogtied and tossed over a meaty unclad shoulder, the breath being forcefully knocked out of me.

                I can’t see Bruce. I can’t hear him.

                My panic is a shimmering film, scarcely concealed and I feel my skin tight with it.

                “Bruce?” I cry out, voice weak from lack of air. I’m spun around as my captor moves, his bulky frame graceful for its size.

                Then we fly.

                Rocketing off the greenery, shooting up into stinging raindrops, the creature extends giant leather-like wings, batting away at the air with incredible force and I make a choking sound in my throat as its shoulder drives deeper into my gut. My fear doubles when I imagine Bruce and his broken rib being subjected to such treatment.

                We fly for minutes, but it feels like hours and when the bright polish of palace marble and city shimmer into view, I feel sick to stomach at the realization, we are right back where we started. In ten minutes, this creature has undone two days of hard travel.

                In a blink, it is over.

                And I can’t even hope to overpower them. Not again. Not as I am so weary and broken.

                Landing in a courtyard, I am picked up by the tie between my feet and wrists and forced into a deeper back bend. I groan, body singing with pain and cough roughly as I’m dumped onto cool marble flooring.

                Seconds later, a second body is dropped beside me, and there is a strange sort of joy I feel at knowing it’s Bruce. Only his ragged breathing is familiar to me. I cannot see him well, arched and trussed as I am. I pray that have not wounded him worse during our capture, but he sounds in pain.

                There is jibberish spoken. At least to our ears. I am certain the Vongar are speaking their own language and had we not lost our translators during our first escape, I might understand them. But I don’t need to. We already know why we are here.

                And it isn’t for peace treaty talks as first expected.

                Struggling to turn my head, I see the blocky purplish feet of one of the winged creatures draw nearer. He brandishes a small knife, cuts the rope the binds my ankles and wrists, then hauls me to my feet in a brutal grip. He stands twice as tall as a man, with muscles that bulge and twinge as he moves. His eyes are black and without pupil and I stare angrily into them, willing him to see my hatred. By the small smile he offers back to me, I can see that he does. And he likes it.

                He chatters something to another one, then they nod in happy agreement and I hiss at him.

                “Diana, don’t fight.”

                I blink, looking over suddenly at Bruce, who’s been released from his own bindings and is being picked at by another creature who looks suspicious of him. It pokes at Bruce’s chest and tips up his chin with one massive finger, black eyes narrowing then widening as it appears to weigh Bruce with a quick shake. Bruce gasps, eyes screwing shut, then the Vongar all begin murmuring quietly.

                I’m not certain when I am aware of them bidding on us, but it becomes painfully obvious after a solid ten minutes of arguing and voices rising. What looks like silver coins begin to pile up in the middle of the room, the clang of it loud and hollow on the tile and I stare mutely, sick to my stomach over the whole process. My mind doesn’t seem to be functioning properly and I don’t seem capable of coming up with anything bright enough as to ascertaining an escape. So I just watch it all happen with a strange sort of distance.

                Bruce too, seems to have slipped inside himself. He doesn’t move when more Vongar join the scene and poke and prod us both. He says nothing when they tip his chin, want to see his teeth, and pluck at his ruined thermals.

                The Vongar only seem disturbed by Bruce’s groans of pain when prodded to roughly and they quickly jump back when he does it. Only to return again with soothing clicks and rumbles coming from their chests, as if to apologize.

                The entire process lasts close to an hour and when the chanting and tossing of money is finally over with, we are handed over to a beaming Vongar who is even taller than the one that held me captive. He smiles widely, huge blocky teeth a pure unblemished white. Bruce sags into me in his arms and the Vongar clutches us both like we’re prized teddy bears against his smooth leathery chest.

                His wings enfold us in a loose cacoon and I exhale sharply when the scent of foreign sweat and skin becomes acridly strong.

                “I hope we aren’t going to be supper.”

                Bruce hums, his voice sounding thin, “No. I don’t think so. We appear to be special.”

                The Vongar’s wings open slightly, those giant black eyes peering down at us and I frown up at him, arms folding over my middle. He smiles again, making those strange clicking sounds, then closes us back into his wings. Bruce hums again, eyes slipping closed.

                “Bruce? Are you more injured?”

                “No. Not really.”

                “So, you are.”

                “They don’t appear to be able to control their strength well. Are you hurt?”

                I shift, trying not to disturb the Vongar with my movements. I can tell we are walking quickly now and the jostling motion keeps tossing me into Bruce. “No. Just tired.”

                “I—I might sleep.”

                I bite my lip, pressing a hand to Bruce’s cheek. Gray eyes frown at me, a bristled cheek scraping my palm. “I will watch out. Sleep.”

                He blinks sluggishly, opening his mouth to argue, then finally nods, eyes dropping closed as if tugged down forcefully.

                I let him sleep until the Vongar halts and we’re tugged out of the thick warmth of his wings to be deposited into a metal cage.

                Tall enough to stand, but only just, it’s only a few feet across and I wait until the Vongar latches the door before scrabbling back to Bruce’s side. The Vongar remains at the gate, tipping his head, clicking and rumbling for quite some time. He remains watchful of us, eyes lingering when I hold Bruce tightly, and smiles happily when I press a chaste kiss to his forehead.

                We’re pets to him. Something of entertainment.

                I feel sick to my stomach.

**Bruce**

                We sleep wrapped around each other, by choice or by accident, I don’t particularly care. Not when my eyes open and I see the same metal bars from the day before surrounding us.

                Filigreed and pretty, they are unlike any prison I have been held captive in before. And that is because we are not merely prisoners. We are pets.

                I scowl, extricating myself carefully from Diana to sit up and blearily make out the objects of the room we are being held in. It’s large, fitting to the creature who now owns us. Marble pillars, giant paintings and sculptures, plants that look exotic, and whimsical. All things rare and special and unique. Treasures.

                We’re in a trophy room.

                We’re trophies.

                Acid bites at my tongue and I swallow thickly, forcing bile back down into my throat, willing calm into my thoughts, though they want to fray and panic. I have no contingency plans for this. I have no plans whatsoever. Previously, I’d hoped to stay on the run long enough to garner the attention of the JLA and get help. Now, I’m not certain any of those messages made it through and there is no telling how long we might remain captive. Being expected to do, who knows what.

                Limping around slowly, I examine the bars of the cell and find them without any sort of breaks. Where we’d been deposited the day previous, there are no hinges or openings. No key holes. Even if I did have anything more than my thermals. Which I don’t.

                Frowning, I stumble back to the cushions we slept and sit beside Diana to think more.

                But I’m interrupted when the Vongar from the day previous comes into the room.

                He’s surprisingly quiet for a creature so large and I stare morbidly at the thing as it approaches, a wickedly pleased smile on its mouth. It clicks at me, gesturing with one thick digit as if to beckon me, and I bare my teeth, making a low growl in return. If he thinks I’ll play nice, he’s wrong.

                The Vongar frowns and I shake Diana awake blindly when he opens the cage door and reaches within. Diana snaps awake, a startled choke breaking the quiet morning air when I’m tugged out roughly by the ankle and dangled in front of the creature. The cage closes and Diana rushes to the bars, a stream of curses burning my ears.

                “Put him down!” she growls, only her black hair and blue eyes shimmering in my eyes as all the blood rushes to my head.

                The Vongar growls, batting at the cage bars to shoo Diana. She curses louder, slamming on the wall. It does nothing. It doesn’t even dent. My chest tightens painfully and I feel the nausea return sharply when the creature gives me a hard shake.

                “What?” I snap at him, baring my teeth again in an ugly grimace when pain shoots up my side.

                Black eyes asses me, then hands turn me around so I’m upright and I slump forward as all the blood plummets back to my toes. The creature frowns, speaks a gibberish line then clutches me tight to his chest and leaves the room. Diana starts screaming.

                Goosebumps flush my skin at the sound, even as it grows distant and I feel my gaze swim when the room tips. It’s been too long since I ate something. I feel weak as a newborn. I’m in no condition to fight.

                The Vongar wraps one hand around my waist and I stifle a strangled yelp, then stuffs something orange into my face. It takes me several seconds to realize it wants me to eat. When I do, I blink stupidly, then lean closer to the orange shape to smell. It smells like an—orange? The Vongar growls, grabbing my hair to shove my face on the orange, rubbing my mouth over the food. Fighting the urge to start swinging, I take a bite hesitantly and immediately taste bitter acid on my tongue. I choke, coughing roughly.

                The Vongar shakes me, hard, and my teeth click together. Another moment, and more food is shoved at me. This time, I know what he wants, so I try it again and this time, it tastes like—nothing. Kind of like eating cloudy air with a hint of grain. I don’t care. It’s something.

                Eating quickly, I hear the humming approval of the Vongar and ignore the light strokes on my hair and back. Clearly, I’ve made him happy. When I finish the food, he hums happily and presses me back into his leathery chest, stroking at my back with quick rough pets. I suffer the treatment for far longer than expected and when he finally starts taking me back to the cage, I silently rejoice when I see Diana spring to a stand as we enter the room.

                My skin feels like it’s crawling.

                “Thank Hera!” she cries, latching onto me the moment the door is opened. The Vongar tosses in more of the weird brown cloud bread and then shuts the door soft click. Taking his seat from the day previous, he sits and watches as Diana eats some of the bread and I remain close at her side.

                “What does he want?”

                “I don’t know,” I whisper, eyes holding the Vongar’s then falling down to my hands which are motionless in my lap, “I imagine he wants us to be good pets.”

                Diana snorts, wiping her mouth, “Pets.”

                I nod, “It appears so. He fed me, then quite literally pet me like I was a cat.”

                She sighs, hand finding mine, fingers lacing. I don’t stop her and I don’t say anything. It seems a little moot to argue that we need to keep things clear and concise between us when I’m not sure what the future holds.

                Besides, I want her touch me. I want that grounding feeling.

                After an hour of light conversation and strained looks, the Vongar clicks a few times, then walks out of the room.

                “How are we going to get out of here?”

                I blink at Diana, mind still hazy and thick, “I don’t know.”

                “Did you see anything when he took you?”

                “No.”

                “What did you do?”

                I frown at her, slightly irritated with the notion I wasn’t doing everything I could have. Though Diana isn’t saying that. Not out loud, anyways. “I told you. He fed me. I ate. There was a long petting session, then he brought me back. He seemed really happy.”

                She scowls, “You seem to be favored over me.”

                My nose wrinkles as I consider that, “Possibly. Though we haven’t been here long enough to be sure.”

                “I’m glad. This will protect you.”

                “I don’t need protecting.”

                She lifts an elegant brow, eyes warming to cinnamon and my stomach cramps.

                We say nothing for several minutes, each deep in our own thoughts. Until the Vongar returns carrying a thickly braided rope and a handful of the brown bread pieces. He studies us carefully a moment, eyes flickering with something like puzzlement, then with a shrug, opens the cage once more and beckons with a finger.

                Instead of growling like before, I merely stare at him, half-tempted to crawl deeper so as to make it harder for him to reach me. Then I realize he is gesturing at Diana and she doesn’t appear any more eager to obey as I was previously.

                The Vongar’s smile fades and he huffs loudly, lips flapping and eyes narrowing. He makes a chortling noise in his throat, then reaches into the cage and grabs Diana about the waist with only minimal fighting on her part. I don’t reach for her or try to stop him, but it is a struggle.

                At the moment, our best option is to comply and hope that given enough time, we will either see a route of escape or, the JLA will intercede and rescue us.

                Whichever comes sooner.

                Taking a seat on the cushions, I vaguely contemplate napping until she returns, but find myself too restless to let my eyes close.

                She’s taking too long. Longer than is needed for cuddling, petting, or whatever else they want to do with her and I start pacing the cell, ignoring the throb of my knee in favor of the movement. I’ve never been any good at sitting still. Now, is no different.

                Well over an hour later, the door opens and the Vongar returns with Diana.

                My feet freeze, heart ratcheting into my throat and my eyes burn when they invariably lock onto hers.

                She is completely naked. Save a bejeweled collar wrapped around her neck.

                Nothing on.

                Nothing…

                Oh God.

                I close my mouth, which has fallen open, and quickly turn, face heating unbearably as I cannot unsee what was already seen. I stared. I stared at _everything._ She knows I did, because she was staring back at me.

                The door opens, creaking at my back and I brace for Diana’s presence, even as I want to shrivel into myself and pretend she’s not standing naked at my back. That I didn’t just see everything I’ve been fantasizing about for four years.

                And it didn’t disappoint.

                Oh God.

                Heat floods my middle and right alongside the shame is a ball of lust too strong to ignore.

                There is shuffling, some rumbling and clicking. Then I hear the pad of bare feet and I slam my eyes closed.

                A warm grip settles about my hips and jerks me roughly backwards, I gasp, eyes flying open, catching only a flash of naked skin and black hair then I’m being pressed into leathery flesh. Growling I act before thinking and pound a closed fist into the chest I’m pressed. The Vongar makes a tisking sound, then a large knuckle wraps me on the nose.

                My eyes instantly water and I blink angrily up at him.

                He hums at me, pets my back and coos in response.

                Fuck him.

                Fuck this entire situation that just keeps spiraling more and more out of control.

                Apparently, it’s my turn.

                He takes me to a different room this time and I don’t know what I expect, but it certainly isn’t this. There is a large bath filled to the brim, bubbles frothing at the edge. The smell of lavender and lemon stings my now tender nose and I blanch when he draws me back and begins plucking at my ruined thermals.

                So he means to bathe me.

                I hiss in pain when he fumbles with the edge of my shirt and struggle not to bite out at the hand which is too insistent and tight on my hips. Will this creature ever start handling me gentler? Or am I doomed to have permanent bruises on my hips?

                “Wait, just wait a damn moment,” I grumble, trying to help with the process, despite having no interest in being disrobed. I’d rather help than be maimed in his sloppy attempts.

                He hesitates, watching me cautiously as I draw the black thermal overhead, wincing with pain when it clears my hair. Smiling proudly, the Vongar nods his head, clicking enthusiastically, before reaching to snap at the elastic waistband on my pants. I sigh, waiting for him to loosen his grip a little to shimmy out of those too.

                Cold air wraps me in a stifling blanket of silence.

                Naked as the day I was born, I stand stiffly by the tub a moment, wondering if the Vongar will leave. He doesn’t. He merely coos and shoves at me, pointing at the water. I quietly oblige, slipping into the frothing bubbles with a muted sound of relief. It feels warm and welcome on my aching muscles and I don’t have as much trouble relaxing as expected. My body sings with relief as I scrub absently, working lather into my hair and over my skin.

                I still jerk with surprise when the Vongar reaches into the rub to help and starts lathering my back with far more soap than I need. He tries to be gentle, but it doesn’t seem like he can manage his own strength and he frequently hurts more than helps. I struggle through the pets and am gifted with murmurs of quiet words amidst familiar clicks. By the time he lets me out, my skin is pruned and I’m ruby red from the heat. He draws me out of the tub and grins, before rubbing a plump knuckle the size of my bicep, over my chin. The heavy scruff I’ve been growing makes him pause and he drops me in front of a mirror that dwarfs me, indicating through a grunt to use the laid out, brush, razor, and towel.

                I stare at the mirror a moment, naked and streaming water everywhere and am shocked that the Vongar finds anything pleasant about my appearance.

                I’ve already lost weight in only a smattering of days and my ribs are showing briefly just beneath my pecks. Black and blue bruises line my frame, bursting like flowers on my injured rib and knee, amidst cuts in different stages of healing. With my thickening beard and dark circled eyes, I look ill.

                The Vongar frowns at me, grabbing the towel, then roughly starts to dry me. I take over quickly, but then wrap the towel around my waist to shave. I’m not given any shave cream, but I make do with only a couple nicks. Only briefly using the brush, I hesitate to turn back to the patiently waiting Vongar and find him thoughtfully studying me, a black leather collar in hand. After a sharp nod, he plucks the towel off my hips, then fastens the collar with a beaming smile. This appears to conclude our dealings. I groan with irritation when he carries me in his usual chest squashing style, back in the direction of the gilded cage.

                En route, I feel the steady thrum of my pulse begin to escalate to a slamming pain in my throat and I shift against the Vongar without thinking, trying to move away. Trying to delay the unmasking. I don’t want to see Diana like this. Not like _this._

                Sure, I’d imagined someday, maybe in my wildest dreams being in nothing but my skin with Diana, sharing passion and dreams and everything. I had not imagined that I would look like death warmed over and that it would be involuntary. That had never crossed my mind.

                The Batman does not strip naked for his female cohorts. Not ever.

                Not even for Wonder Woman.

                We enter the room in a smattering of seconds, not nearly long enough, and I cease struggling when I see Diana sitting casually, still very much naked on the pillows within. My mouth turns to desert and I shiver at the sight. She could be queen of Sheba, sitting there as she is. Golden skin, black hair dripping like satin down her back. Skin flawless and silken. Her eyes, chocolate and deep, flicker over to me and hold.

                I don’t need to be near to see the pupils go wide and her breath quicken.

                It’s of little comfort. Though some small vain bit of myself rejoices at her reaction.

                This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.

                The Vongar deposits me into the cage, giving me a few happy strokes down my back, then shoves me forward to greet Diana. We stare at each other, eyes largely keeping above the neck, faces both red and strained. Then we move to our own respective corners and say nothing. Again, he remains for a full hour, watching us as we do everything in our power to ignore each other. When it appears we aren’t going to be particularly entertaining at the moment, he hums in disapproval then finally leaves.

                I’ve long since given Diana my back, and I’ve curled in on myself to keep warm, and to maintain some small bit of dignity. Diana I’m sure, still sits completely unabashed and proud. Regal.

                It feels like cruelty that the room’s air is crisp and cold.

                 “I’m sorry Bruce.”

                “For what?” I snap a little too loudly.

                “This is uncomfortable for you.”

                I lift my chin from my forearms, and glance back at Diana. I regret it immediately. She has not moved from the pillows and makes no effort to cover _anything_. My breath backs up into my lungs and I’m forced to look away or be further humiliated. My grip turns bruising on my legs, drawing tighter into the ball I’m in.

                “Isn’t it for you?”

                “Yes and no. I am less tied to man’s world of modesty. It does not bother me to be nude.”

                I snort, disdain dripping from me, “Good for you.”

                “Come now Bruce, this isn’t so bad. We are clean. And fed. It could be worse.”

                “Sure.”

                Silence falls again and I start counting the bars of the cage, wondering if the Vongar will return again before night falls.

                “You’re shivering.”

                “No.”

                There is movement at my back and something like panic descends into my middle. I scrabble closer to the wall, keeping my gaze on the floor. “Diana, don’t get closer.”

                “You are cold.”

                “I’m naked. It’s to be expected. I don’t need you closer. In fact, I don’t _want_ you closer.”

                “Bruce,” she argues, more movement scraping through the cage as she draws nearer. Bare feet on metal, the brush of hair on a naked back. I screw my eyes shut and focus on levelling my breathing. Diana is less than a foot away, I can feel the heat of her skin on my spine and it feels…oh so fucking good. In way too many ways.

                “I need you further away.”

                “You are too cold. You will get sick.”

                “I’ll be fine.”

                “You are already injured, without proper care, you will get sick. Your immune system has already been weakened. Especially in an entirely new ecosystem. If you don’t keep warm, it is likely that you will gain an illness and get worse.”

                “Don’t spout science like it’ll somehow change my mind. I don’t need you to be over here. You can stay,” I look up a moment, blink stupidly when my gaze lands on a pair of naked breasts then quickly down, “For God’s sake Diana.”

                Her laugh is warm and without apology, “You are so red Bruce. It is charming.”

                “I’m—I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

                “And you are. Admirably. But if we are to remain unclothed for some time, it is impossible to expect that you can never look at me. Besides, at night, it will grow colder. How will you stay warm without touching me? As you recall, we slept quite close last night.”

                My eyes snap to Diana’s and hold steady on the dark almond of them. “I’ll have to manage.”

                She reaches to brush a hand through my hair and heat pools rapidly in my stomach. “Bruce, can we not admit that we want each other even now? Even after everything?”

                “We both already know that.”

                “But it is different to say it.”

                I shrug a shoulder, “Maybe.”  
                “So, you want me, Bruce?”

                “Diana,” I choke out, wondering what she wants from me. A damn declaration of love? Because that isn’t going to happen. Least of all while I’m so vulnerable and panicked. Am I panicked? Yes. I recognize it now. Fetid and bitter in my middle. Panicked at screwing this up. Panicked at losing Diana because all I want to do is act on instinct and that wouldn’t be the right thing. Me and Diana, Diana and me, we aren’t meant to be an ‘act on instinct’ sort of thing. I’ve known that since the moment I laid eyes on her. Since I realized I was in love with her and wasn’t going to do anything about it. Or at the very least, shouldn’t.

                We’re the sort of people who can’t just love briefly, for a sweaty hour in a hotel and have no regrets. We love long term. We love deeply. We love enduringly.

                My heart skitters in my chest, a terrified animal being chased and I bite down on saying what’s really happening in my mind. On saying the damning words that have no place on a mission.

                For God’s sake, this is still a mission! And I’m contemplating fucking my team mate. Of confessing my undying love, if only so I don’t keep feeling this sick weight in my chest when I look at her.

                “Bruce?”

                I blink up at her, strangely able to look away from the rest of her, in favor of that expressive face. “Yeah?”

                “I lost you a moment. Where did you go?”

                “Somewhere I shouldn’t have.”

                “Hmmm,” she muses, mouth thinning, eyes swimming with some emotion I don’t want to know. Not right now. I’m still on that slippery dark edge of want and I don’t want to know how easy it would be to push me off into the abyss.

                “We should get some rest,” I swallow thickly, “Separately.”

                She frowns, “If you insist on being foolish, it will only make us both suffer in the end.”

                “Misery likes company,” I snap, carefully crawling to the cushions, then giving her my back. I can’t help that my ass isn’t covered. I can’t help that I start shivering more thoroughly only ten minutes into my obstinance. But I _should_ stop the arm that sneaks delicately over my middle and pulls my back into a very naked warm chest. I _should_ stop that brief, alarming sound of euphoria from slipping out of my mouth when I feel Diana’s mouth at my ear, her breath hot and welcome on my neck. I shouldn’t allow this. I shouldn’t.

                But I do.

                It only takes a few minutes for my muscles to relax and my heart to slow again. For my skin to merely feel warmed against Diana’s constant heat, rather than sensitized. And I slip fitfully into a dark dangerous sleep.

                 

**Diana**

 

                I wake to the smells of lavender and lemon. To warm skin and weight draped over my middle. To the breath of a man lightly snoring in my ear and I smile sleepily for a brief moment, forgetting everything else but the sensation of being held.

                I am not in bed with my lover. Nor am I waking after a night of loving beneath the stars.

                But if I keep my eyes closed, I can imagine it. I can imagine it so very easily with Bruce’s heart thrumming beneath my ear and his skin warm against mine.

                Too soon, there is a quiet grumble beneath my ear and I lift my chin, resting it atop Bruce’s breastbone to watch his eyes when he wakes. Gray first, fluttering open weakly, wincing at the bright light that burns into the cage. Then they snap to me and I watch as the pupils widen. As the color darkens from gray to navy and his pulse skips up and keeps climbing.

                “Good morning.”

                He blinks at me, one hand tentatively reaching to brush knuckles over my cheek, “Good morning.”

                “I am glad you slept. You needed it.”

                He frowns, creases pressing into his forehead, “Didn’t you?”

                “Yes. But you are human Bruce. And you need more than me.”

                He rolls his eyes, then shifts carefully beneath me and I allow him up enough to grab a cushion from beside us for a covering. For his sake, I push my hair over both shoulders to cover my breasts, however thinly, then take a cushion to cover my own lap. He smiles at me, relief and something warmer touching me.

                “I didn’t notice yesterday, but I like your collar,” I indicate his neck, pointing.

                He lifts a sardonic brow, “Oh yeah? Something you want to tell me, Diana?”

                “What?” I ask pleasantly, picking at the strings on the pillow in my lap, “Worried that I like that sort of thing?”

                A faint pink steals over his cheeks and I feel absurdly charmed. No one would guess him to be the playboy now, blushing as he is at the mere mention of a kink. “Not worried.”

                “Ah, then you must like mine,” I finger the jewels at my throat, enjoying the way his gaze watches the motion. With nothing to occupy ourselves, I wonder briefly what on earth we will find ourselves doing? Aside from the obvious. Which I am certain Bruce will want no part in, as to the chance of not only being watched but studied while in the throes of passion.

                I’m not too keen on the idea either. I’d pictured our first time someplace remote and warmer. Maybe on the beach.

                However, the possibility for witnesses has great potential to bury the fires and keep them merely at a simmer. Something I am certain Bruce is grateful for. He’d been so out of sorts the day previous. And as much as it pleases me to throw him off his game, I much prefer the cool and logical version of Bruce I fell in love with. The man, with a plan. Always with a plan.

                We talk of everything and nothing for the first several hours. We talk until I feel drowsy again and Bruce suggests we sleep, to conserve energy. We’ve not been fed in some time and don’t know when next we can expect something. With nothing better to do, we do. And when he carefully wraps himself around my waist, without a word of protest, I silently rejoice at the feel of him pressed into me. It’s glorious.

                We wake some time later, the sun warm on our faces to a strange scent in the room. Bruce sits up first, scrubbing his face with both hands, then scowls darkly out the cage bars to where several burning trays have been set. Like incense sticks, they fragrance the room in thick gray plumes, choking the air with their smoke. I inhale delicately, trying to determine what exactly they are trying to do and struggle to make sense of it.

                I catch cinnamon and ginger. Something alien and bitter too. Puzzling, I keep sniffing, trying to pick out the different pieces.

                Until I see Bruce go rigid at my side, his hands fisting.

                “Bruce?”

                He blinks at me, glossy and unfocused, pupils constricted to pinpoints. He looks high.

                I frown, wondering briefly if I would be affected in equal parts if I were in fact human. It is likely. But the Vogar do not know that I am not. They will be expecting whatever this is to affect us both.

                “Bruce?” I try again, grasping a shoulder with one hand to shake him.

                He hisses, sucking in a breath like I’ve burned him and I recoil immediately. Bruce is already clumsily putting space between us.

                “Don’t,” he slurs heavily, “Touch.”

                “Do you hurt?”

                He blinks open those blurry eyes, licking his lips like he’s tasting the air, “Yes…No.”

                “What?”

                “Don’t,” he warns again, putting a trembling hand out, “Touch. It’s an…aphrodisiac.”

                I blink at him for a moment, then feel genuine shock. “They want us to have sex?”

                He swallows thickly, scooting further way, pressing that pillow deeper into his lap and I struggle not to follow the motion with my eyes. “I don’t know…yes…Stay back.”

                I nod at him, “Don’t worry Bruce. I’ll stay back. Are you alright?”

                “I don’t know.”

                The answer worries me and we both fall silent when the sticks finish burning and all that remains is a thick haze in the air. Bruce sits rigid, back against the far wall of the cage, eyes open but glazed. I watch him for signs of trouble but only note that his pulse is slower and his breathing even. He sits frozen, no indication of what’s going on inside. For his sake, I pray that whatever he is experiencing, will be short-lived.

                “Bruce?” I ask worriedly and his hands flex into fists, eyes slipping up to meet me. Taking their time in reaching my own. I flush under his appraisal. “Are you still alright?”

                “Fine.”

                “Do you need—anything?”

                That’s a stupid question. I see him lift both brows, something dark passing over his face, then he shakes his head as if to clear it. His pupils are still pinpricks and his skin has now gone ruddy. “No. Stay over there.”

                “OK.”

                Ten minutes later the Vongar enters the room and starts growling angrily. He paces a few minutes, snorts and snuffles breaking the chatter of his growls. Then he’s up at the gate, opening it wide to grab hold of Bruce by the shoulders. Bruce doesn’t have the wherewithal to do much more than flop about as the man jerks him upright and starts shaking him.

                “Stop that,” I snap, hands fisting. I don’t want Bruce hurt when he’s like this. Weak and distracted.

                The Vongar nods at me, gesturing rapidly with both hands. Then he pushes Bruce at me hard and Bruce stumbles to his knees, a strained ‘oof’ coming from his lips. The Vongar prods at his rear with a foot, trying to force him closer and a low growl slips from Bruce.

                I stand up, slipping into battle position, though I am certain I will not have enough strength to win. It’s instinctual.

                “Don’t do that,” I hiss, reluctantly disobeying Bruce’s orders to not draw nearer in order to shield him from the Vongar’s flailing arms. One wrong move, and Bruce will be suffering from something broken. I can take a hit. He cannot.

                I realize it’s a mistake to be so close the moment a pair of lips are dancing over my ankle. Glancing down, dividing my attention between the Vongar and Bruce, I blink stupidly at the image of Bruce kissing my ankle and struggle not so swoon. Instead, I bat him away and he jerks hard, breath now sawing out of him, hands trembling as he tries again.

                I’m losing him.

                He’s losing himself.

                Growling low in his throat, he makes another move, grabbing at my hips to pull himself up. I let him, then keep him an arm’s distance away. He hisses in frustration, prying at my fingers on his shoulders, trying to kiss anything touching him.

                The Vongar has started praising Bruce, happy noises of clicks and hums. I see red with rage.

                Bruce would never want this. I don’t even want it. Not like this.

                My blood is a roaring in my ears, overpowering everything, making my world slip down to a narrow tube.

                Blue and red flash, bright and blinding, a streak of color so welcome that I feel the quick tug of relief even before Bruce is being pulled away from me. All at once, our situation has been turned on its head once again.  

                The Vongar is dealt with in a matter of seconds, knocked unconscious with a flick of movement. Such little effort and yet, we’ve been trapped for days subsisting on scant rations and no equipment. It should be laughable how easy it is to defeat him. It’s not.

For a moment, I can hardly tear my eyes away from the Vongar, slumped as he is, amidst broken vases and his treasures. He wanted a pair of pretty creatures. He’s lucky it didn’t cost him his life.

                When I hear the sound of broken pleas, a hoarse voice grating harshly over murmurs to ‘calm’, my gaze is invariably torn to Bruce.

                Superman has already doffed his cape and has him wrapped like a baby in the folds and the initial relief I felt at our rescue triples. I’m smiling like a fool, tears of relief pooling and blurring everything, when Green Lantern bursts in, quickly followed by Flash, both of whom gape at me.

“Flash, get her something to cover up with,” Superman grates, eyes narrowed and dark.

Flash blinks, looks over to where Bruce is writhing and moaning on the floor then abruptly snaps at out it. He dashes out of the room, then reappears with a long velvet blanket. I take it gratefully and cover myself sarong-style. Green Lantern has moved to my side and has wrapped an arm around my shoulders for support. I don’t need it but appreciate the sentiment.    

                “What the fuck?” Hal murmurs, still watching Bruce as Superman hefts him into his arms. Bruce has started trying to rub himself on Superman, tears streaming down his face, broken moans making everyone in the room shift uncomfortably.

                Flash frowns, “What did he do to him?”

                I sigh, frustrated, “Long story. Just get us out of here. He needs medical attention.”

                When we step outside and a boom tube is waiting, glowing bright and welcoming, I don’t even care about the particulars. I don’t need to. We’re safe. Everything is alright. I hear Bruce’s choked moans and hear Superman whispering words of comfort into his friends’ ear and I lean heavier into Lantern.

                Or at least, it will be soon.

 

                It takes a full six hours for the aphrodisiac to leave Bruce’s bloodstream and I wait outside the med-bay for everyone’s sake. Only Clark refuses to leave his side, despite the chaotic words and mumblings. Despite Bruce’s raging temper when he’s left tied up and suffering. When the fever finally recedes, and the haze of lust is over, Bruce slips into a deep sleep. And I find myself seated at his bedside, wearing sweats and sketching his face.

                I pencil in the lines of his mouth, lax and lean. Then his brows, which are expressionless and soft in sleep. His eyes are still shadowed with dark circles and his skin looks too pale, but I’m comforted by the steady drip of an IV in his arm and the steady cadence of his breathing.

                It’s close to two in the morning when he finally stirs, and I’m nearly finished getting his hair to my liking. Messy, falling over one brow, and black as night.

“Hey tiger,” I murmur, dropping the pencil and sketchpad to lean in close.

                He eyes me warily, mouth slipping easily into the lines of a familiar scowl and I smother a good natured chuckle. He wouldn’t appreciate it now.

                “I should apologize.”

                “For what?” I ask softly, tempted to press a kiss to that scowling mouth now.

                “You know what.”

                “Bruce, you were drugged.”

                “I—” his eyes narrow, pink suddenly flushing his neck and face, “I tried to control it.”

                “I could see that. Everyone understood.”

                “Oh God,” his eyes snap closed and one hand pinches the bridge of his nose, “I said things. A lot of things. In front of everyone.”

                “Yes. You said things. But not in front of everyone.”

                “Flash. Green Lantern.”

                I shrug, though he can’t see me. A pained sigh, weary and desolate, then, “Clark.”

                Slate gray eyes open just enough to see their color and I smirk at him, struggling not to laugh. His embarrassment shouldn’t make me want to smile but it does. I’m overtired and still running off of the feel-good of being rescued in the nick of time. 

                “I tried to get Clark to sleep with me.”

                “I’m pretty sure you would have slept with anything at one point. You weren’t in control of yourself.”

                “Unbelievable.”

                I shrug, propping my chin up on my hands. My arms just brush his bare shoulder. He watches me a moment, face inscrutable, then sighs.

                “I’m still sorry.”

                “Why?”

                He blinks at me, “I didn’t want it to happen like that.”

                “Well, neither do I. But I still want _it_ to happen.”

                “It…” he says quietly, eyes suddenly luminous. The halls are silent, the sound of electrical humming in the medbay seem more lullaby than static and the smell of Bruce’s skin makes me want to bask in his warmth. Like we did when we thought there was no other choice and skin pressed into skin.

                “Yes.”

                We stare at each other a moment longer and I’m not surprised in the least when he leans very close, brushes his lips on mine as if to ask permission, then presses into the kiss firmly. I hum against him, arms wrapping around his neck, heart clamoring up my throat and the world does a slow sort of happy tipping. Tipping to the position it should have been all along. Where Bruce and I are together.

                We kiss for long minutes, hands careful, hearts singing and when we finally break for air, we say nothing when he scoots over on the cot and I climb up beside him. My head pillows comfortably on his chest, the steady thump of his heart soothing and warm. His arms tighten like bands of steel, enveloping me against him and I sigh contededly, content to never move again.

                “As far as first kisses go, that was better than I imagined,” I whisper into his t-shirt, wary of breaking the filmy silence.

                Bruce’s laugh is rumble under my ear, “For me too.”


End file.
